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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29344824">And the eyes of Death were blue</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/lothya/pseuds/lothya'>lothya</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Emotional Hurt, Failed Android Revolution (Detroit: Become Human), Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts, Swearing</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 13:08:44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,053</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29344824</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/lothya/pseuds/lothya</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The Revolution failed, and Connor was replaced with RK900.<br/>Hank didn't want to survive this, but he did.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Hank Anderson/Connor, Hank Anderson/Upgraded Connor | RK900</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>25</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>And the eyes of Death were blue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This was sudden and turned out pretty dark.<br/>But I couldn't shake it off, so here it comes!<br/>Please enjoy my little lump of depression if it’s up to your taste.<br/>(Canon-level swearing, but not much else to warn about. Only saddest sappy sadness all around.)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>...It happened so suddenly that he didn't understand what happened at all.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He saw the glares - pitiful, condescending, uneasy. He heard the words - "obsolete", "replaced", but he couldn't grasp their meaning.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He felt his heart rip off and fall down, like a fruit so ripe it was beginning to rot. And then he suddenly heard and felt nothing, nothing at all.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He thought he would die, but he didn't. Instead he spent his quiet evenings drinking and puking himself down the drain, hoping that tomorrow wouldn't come. But it always came back, making him remember tender, soft brown eyes under long eyelashes, and daft, long thin fingers. He wanted to kiss those fingers so much, wanted to see them play with a coin, wanted them for once to stroke through his own messy, dirty hair.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But it was too late. It was always too late to die in the morning.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He didn’t know how much time passed before something changed. The pain didn’t go; it numbed, condensed into a slick ball of puss, solid yet ever ready to break apart, stored safely at the bottom of his stomach.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And just when he thought was dead enough to be ready for everything, even coming to work, fate laughed in his face once again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At first he didn't believe his eyes, seeing the face which haunted the best of his dreams in the corridor, talking to Fowler nonchalantly. Yet something was wrong; it was like seeing a ghost or a crude, neglectful imitation. The face turned and stared into him with its ruthless blue eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>- Anderson, - he heard from somewhere far, far away. - Good to see you back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The pale face approached. It studied him like an angel of Death - powerful, coldhearted, concentrated yet unconcerned at the same time. He often imagined Death coming for him in Connor's image in his delirium fueled slumber, yet the reality twisted it all into a cruel joke.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>- ...The motherfucking cocksucking fuck, - Hank concluded.  He turned around and waddled away, towards the exit.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The ghost caught up on him in the parking lot. Tall figure extended its hand towards Hank, and his heart broke once again as he saw the thin, long, gracious fingers. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>- ...I'm a new model, sent by Cyberlife… - the visage opened its mouth. Hank gulped, fighting the tears welling up in his sore eyes. Just when he thought he couldn’t cry anymore.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>- Go to hell, - he whispered, and left without looking back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When he came home, he popped a new bottle of whiskey and didn't stop till it was empty. He hoped so much he'd die that night, thinking of tender brown eyes and swift long fingers. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But he didn't. And next morning he was at the precinct again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was bearable for the first half of the day, when they left him to sort the papers on his desk - so he could just stare into old coffee-stained reports, slowly remembering how to breathe again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But the bliss of loneliness was taken away all too soon: a quiet rustle and swift typing clicks signalled that the seat next to him, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Connor’s</span>
  </em>
  <span> seat, was taken.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He didn’t want to look up. But he did.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Blue-eyed android was studying him again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>- Lieutenant Anderson, - it started speaking, and Hank hated its voice sound so </span>
  <em>
    <span>familiar</span>
  </em>
  <span> yet different almost as much as he'd hate himself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>- Uh, shut up, - he grumbled, intending to escape from the mockery into the welcoming diversion of obsolete papers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>- ...I was assigned to replace your previous partner, - the thing finished, and suddenly he couldn’t take it anymore.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He rushed to the abomination's desk, no, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Connor’s</span>
  </em>
  <span> desk, throwing a chair out of his way, scattering a pile of papers over the floor, and grabbed the thing by its white plastic collar.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>- Shut the fuck up, you sack of shit, - he was shaking the android with a blind, seething rage, failing to notice an eerie silence filling the room.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>People were watching, whispering. Like back then, when he heard that cruel word "obsolete" for a first time.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He</span>
  </em>
  <span> was obsolete.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A fine, lean palm landed on his hand. He stopped, thunderstruck; just like the voice, the touch was all too </span>
  <em>
    <span>familiar</span>
  </em>
  <span>, cool and soft, yet unexpectedly firm. Hank felt the tears rush to his eyes again (or maybe they were there all along, just waiting for the right moment to blind him).</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>- I know the replacement might have caused you emotional distress, - familiar-yet-fake voice sounded. Hank released his grab, hating himself for how he lingered, longing for more caress from the cold, elegant palm.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>- You don’t know shit, - he whispered.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>- I've gained access to my predecessor's memory, - the voice continued, and Hank felt a new destructive surge of heat rise inside of him. Yet the thought of the white, soft palm helped to quench the feeling somehow, making him almost ashamed of himself. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>- Don't, - he whispered defeatedly, and returned to his seat, trying not to look at the inadvertent spectators of his blowup.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was late in the evening when he finally left his seat. Not much but a bottle waited for him at home, yet the routine helped to maintain the semblance of life - just enough to not drown in his personal ocean of despair.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The android caught up on him as he was leaving the building. He didn't quicken the pace when he heard the familiar even gait; if he'd close his eyes he could imagine it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>Connor</span>
  </em>
  <span> finally coming for him. But it wasn't Connor, but the Death with his face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>- I want to talk,  - the machine stated.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hank couldn't find any more fight in him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>- Then talk, - he shrugged and just kept going, hoping that the ghost would leave him alone if he reached the car.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>- I respect your former connection to RK800, and I find it fascinating, - Hank knew the conversation would stray this way, yet he felt a punch in the gut land with </span>
  <em>
    <span>Connor’s</span>
  </em>
  <span> model name. He stopped to catch a breath.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>- Connor, - he turned to the blue-eyed android. - His name was </span>
  <em>
    <span>Connor</span>
  </em>
  <span>, - he contemplated throwing in another "fuck you", but it seemed to be too much of an effort.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>- Yes, - the machine nodded.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Both stayed quiet for a moment.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>- I hope that our partnership will be as fruitful, - the android finally broke the silence.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>- Fuck you, - muttered Hank getting on his way towards the car. The blue-eyed ghost followed him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>- You can call me Connor as well.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>- No, - Hank grumbled, and it took all his effort not to repeat grabbing the blasted thing by the collar and shaking it like a pear tree. Maybe he was afraid the soft white palm would again touch him; he couldn't let it happen.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He came home, and drunk and jerked off until he fell asleep.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When he arrived back at work, the blue-eyed android wasn't there. However, he found a cup of warm coffee and a box of painkillers placed squarely in the middle of his now empty desk.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He plunged for the welcoming retreat of the pills, trying not to think of their origin.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then, a small talk with Fowler happened -  mostly on the topic of rage control issues and avoiding being drunk at work; Fowler was surprisingly mellow on both subjects which made Hank feel it was a twisted attempt at supporting him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Well, it wasn't a bad idea then; he had no chance to talk to a human being for a long, long time.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And then the blue-eyed ghost arrived alongside Gavin Reed. And it saw Hank, and did something it didn't do before. It smiled.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hank knew this smile all too well.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>- Anderson, give poor thing a chance, - Fowler suggested in a worried tone, and Hank noticed his hands were clenched into fists. - It's useful, and it's trying its best.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>- Gotta go grab lunch, - that was all he could come up with.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The android followed him, parting with Reed with a nod of a head. A small part of Hank wanted to know how on Earth it was able to get Reed behave decently; the larger one didn't care at all.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>- May I accompany you during your meal? - the machine asked, catching up with Hank at the exit.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Its timing was impeccable, Hank thought.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>- If I say no, will you leave me alone? Or will you haunt me till I die? - he retorted sarcastically.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>- Contrary to the obvious, the data suggests persistence can help the matter, - he couldn't help but notice that there was a sort of friendly note now present in android's tone. Or, was it wishful thinking?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>- Shut up, - Hank came up with the most universal answer. - Did you leave the painkillers for me?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>- Yes, - the machine smiled again. Hank could swear it was getting better at it, and he didn't like it; almost as much as he hated the cold calculating spark ever present deep in its blue eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>- Don't bother next time, - he didn't want to say anything even remotely friendly, and felt a pang of guilt because of it, which in turn made him angry. - Jesus, don't you have anything to do?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>- I've got lunch with you scheduled for the next hour. We could use this time to know each other, - the android replied, sounding almost proud of itself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And Hank lost it. He grabbed the machine by the collar, ignoring the fact that he was a head shorter than his counterpart, and shook with all the force he could muster.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>- Look, you plastic dipshit. You are not </span>
  <em>
    <span>Connor</span>
  </em>
  <span>, got it?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The android looked down on him; its face tried to emulate confusion, but its eyes were cold as hell frozen over. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>- I could be whatever you want me to be, Lieutenant. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hank clenched his fist, and landed a punch. And another one. And then another.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He didn't stop till his hand was slick with thirium.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The familiar blue color brought him back to senses. He stared at his hand, then at the machine standing on its knees before him, its face, </span>
  <em>
    <span>precious face</span>
  </em>
  <span> bleeding blue. There was something new in its thirium-colored eyes, though. A question.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hank didn't know what to say. He turned his back to the android and left.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He didn’t bother coming back that day. Instead, he came home early, and opened another bottle.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The question… He knew that question, but he didn't want to. So he drowned it in whiskey, along with long daft fingers, brown eyes, and soft curly eyelashes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>...he woke up, no, was woken up around midnight, and again he was hoping it was Death coming for him. But again Death's eyes were blue.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>- The hell you're doing here? - he asked with all the dignity he could muster lying on the floor next to a suspicious puddle of an unknown organic substance.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>- I came to talk, - the Death answered, and there was no cheer or smile in its tone this time.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>- Then talk, - he sassed in Death's face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>- Why? - the Death asked, and there was now defeat in Death's voice.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>- Why what? - he retorted. He didn't care what or why, but he couldn't stand the intense blue-eyed gaze anymore. He needed a distraction. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>- I'm newer. Stronger. Better equipped. Why?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hank opened his mouth, and closed it again. The question caught him off guard, and he had no idea what to do with it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But then the Death grabbed him by the collar, and shoved into the carpet forcefully.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>- Why can't you like me like you liked him?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hank swallowed, his head spinning with a budding migraine. The Death itself fancied him, wasn't it an honor?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>- Because you are not <em>him</em>. And will never be.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The android loosened his grip on Hank's collar. It looked so lost it hurt, because it reminded Hank of another one, who was lost; the one who had beautiful brown eyes, tender cheeks with light freckles and long, swift, gentle fingers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>- I'm… lost in his memories, Hank, - the machine spoke quietly, in a soft, desperate voice, - I don’t know what to do.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hank reached for the android's cheek, and caressed it. And the Death smiled truly, its soft blue eyes welling with tears; and it cupped Hank's hand with its palms, which were almost as soft and gentle, but still different.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And for the first time Hank thought that maybe it was right that the Death, </span>
  <em>
    <span>his Death</span>
  </em>
  <span>, had blue eyes.</span>
</p>
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